Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus (An Esteemed Private School)
by 4chan606
Summary: AU. Harry Potter is a regular American boy with a passion for soccer and reading. When his godfather Sirius gets engaged and moves to Britain, Harry is forced to change schools. He now must attend a rich private school and live a new life, dealing with gay teenage boys, fine wine, and a few drug dealers.
1. A New School

**Hello, everyone.**

**I have adopted this story from TumTums, with permission of course, so please don't hesitate to PM me at this account if you need to! I'm open to any suggestions you have to offer. **

* * *

Chapter I

"So, you excited for your first day, kiddo?"

"What do you think, Sirius?" Harry rolled his eyes at his over enthusiastic godfather. Ever since Sirius had gotten engaged, his overly cheerful mood had begun to affect every one of his "family" members, and it was steadily beginning to piss Harry off.

Sirius sharply turned, ignoring Harry's loud yelp and snarky remark about his driving techniques, and slowly eased into one of the free parking spaces. He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around, a slight frown on his handsome face. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"Don't call me kiddo."

"Fine, then, Harry. What's wrong?" Sirius amended, and then repeated his earlier question. "You'll be able to see me soon enough, the others too! Thanksgiving is only a few months away!"

Harry gave his godfather an incredulous look over his new glasses. They had been a birthday present. "I don't care about that, Sirius." He sighed at his godfather's hurt expression. "I don't mean it like that, okay? I'm just not worried about that. I know I'll get to see you."

Sirius studied him. "What is it then? You said you weren't too upset with the move. You know Ron and 'Mione, are coming for Thanksgiving, with Remus, and Molly, and everyone. And Ginny's coming too." He raised an eyebrow and smirked insinuatingly.

"I don't like her, Sirius!"

"I never said you did."

Harry glared at his godfather's infuriating grin. "Well, whatever. I still don't. I just don't want to go to some preppy private school!"

Sirius' smile faded and he looked at Harry concernedly. "I thought we went over this, Harry. Private schools are-"

"-Not that different from public schools, I know," Harry interrupted, his hot temper flaring up. "But the thing is, Sirius, that's wrong! You're wrong!"

Sirius frowned for the second time. "Harry, please don't talk to me like that. You're a sweet kid; don't let your temper get the best of you."

The car was silent for a few minutes.

"Sorry," Harry apologized, feeling slightly ashamed of his behavior, but no less reluctant to leave the car.

"I know you are," Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his thick, black hair. "We'd better get to the front office. Your first period starts in fifteen minutes." He pulled the key from the ignition and opened the door of his black truck, stepping outside onto the parking lot. "Come on."

Harry slowly unbuckled his seat belt and did the same, standing next to his godfather. "Where is the front office? Do you know?"

"Uh," Sirius scratched his nose and pulled a brochure out of his back pocket. "There's a map in here somewhere. "Ah, there it is. Good that it is so near to the parking space." He smiled hesitantly at Harry. "I know you might not be too eager to come here, but you can't deny that this building is a beauty."

"I guess," Harry wasn't too excited at the prospect of living in a luxurious, rich dorm, or roaming musty halls full of historical relics, or even playing soccer on the campus' vibrant green grounds. And he definitely was not excited to meet all the snobby private school brats who probably looked down on him because he came from a public school. Hermione used to go to private school and she was horrible before she became friends with Ron and him and finally started to ease up. Here, they probably wouldn't even let him try out for the soccer team, or football as they called it here. And the studying! Harry wasn't a terrible student, not by far, but he wasn't too good of one either. The only subject he was any good at was English, that and _football._ Moreover, all these kids were probably ten thousand times smarter than him because they read books like Pride and Prejudice and other novels that Harry was apparently too dense to understand the deeper meanings of, according to Hermione, who was admittedly a genius. He liked Ray Bradbury, and John Grisham, and Agatha Christie. Those authors wrote the real classics, at least in his opinion; however, he had feeling that his opinion would not matter too much here. This school seemed like it was one with a self-appointed student council that was actually more of a clique. They probably argued over stupid things like furnishings for the teacher's lounge and what types of foods should not be sold in the cafeteria. Did they even call it a cafeteria here? It was probably called something equally snobby as the kids who went to this school, like a tea room or a dining hall. Harry inwardly berated himself for being so pessimistic, yet he could not find any good in this situation no matter how he tried. Well, there was the higher standards of education, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much about that.

"Harry, anybody home?" Sirius looked at him bemusedly.

"What, yeah. Sorry."

"No problem, kiddo. Let's go."

Harry did not bother to correct him. As he and his godfather walked briskly to the main entrance, he noted the buildings' design with reluctant appreciation. The bricks were a soft brown color, with white bricks creating an intricate design that framed the frosted glass windows. As they neared the school, Harry noticed an etched banner draped artistically across the arch of the front door reading "_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus"_. "Sirius," Harry began curiously.

"Yes, Harry?" Sirius pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a short drag and blowing gently in the direction opposite his godson.

Harry grimaced. "Should you be doing that here?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's a freaking private school, Sirius."

Sirius did not bother to correct his language; he had heard much worse from his godson. "I know."

Harry exhaled exasperatedly and grinned despite himself. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

Sirius punched Harry in the shoulder playfully. "And you should smile more. It definitely improves your looks. You've been moping so badly lately I was afraid that was your only expression! You might actually get some girls this way!"

"Ha, ha," Harry retorted dryly. "As if I'd care about that."

"You should. When James was your age, well, let's just say that I was the looker, but he got more girls, you know why?"

"Why?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Ah ha! So you _do_ care!"

"I don't Sirius! It's just-" Harry stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder as if he was afraid someone would hear him, but there was no one else outside except for him and Sirius. "It's just that I miss him, you know?" He said quietly. "I know it's stupid, I barely knew him but I still miss him. Not in the way that I miss Cedric-" He winced and his voice got even harder to discern. Sirius placed a comforting hand on his godson's shoulder. Harry continued hesitantly. "I miss him in a different way, kind of like I miss the idea of him? Or something like that, like what I'm missing about him isn't _him_, it's the fact that he was my dad. And with Mom too, I feel like that. But it's worse with him, I don't know why." He finished and looked up at Sirius, cheeks slightly pink.

Sirius contemplated Harry seriously. "Harry," he began slowly. "You are one of those people who are so easy to read. You wear your heart on your sleeve! You are very easy to hurt, to anger, to frustrate. But as cheesy as this sounds, this also means that you are easy to love, and there are so many people who love you back. You are very lucky. I know that I'm not exactly the best father-"

"That isn't true, Sirius!"

Sirius shook his head wearily. "Yes, it is. The fact of the matter is, I am not your real father, and I have to accept that. Nobody can replace your parents, Harry. I cannot replace James. And no matter how much Molly tries," He laughed weakly. "She can never replace Lily. We need to understand that. But, Harry," He peered into Harry's emerald green eyes. "We still love you, and would do anything for you. You are still our family."

Harry pulled his godfather into an awkward embrace, his thin arms wrapping around his godfather's back tightly. Sirius hugged him back briefly and let go, smiling warmly at his godson. Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Sirius, I know I don't say this often, but I love you."

"Me too, kiddo."

"Don't call me kiddo!"

Sirius laughed.

* * *

"Your name is Potter, correct?" A thin woman with a stern mouth and green eyes asked briskly. Her hair was in a tight, brown bun that seemed to be pulling at the sides of her scalp painfully.

"Uh, yes," Harry replied, feeling a bit out of place next to the stiff woman, even in his new school uniform. "My first name is Harry."

"I address students by their surnames, therefore I will address you as Potter or Mr. Potter. It is customary at this school for most professors to address their students by their last names."

"Um, that's okay, I guess." Harry cursed his unfailing ability to trip over words. Give him a soccer ball, and he could score without ever falling down and having to brush grass off of his knees, but torture him with an oral presentation and he was as inarticulate as a brachiopod. He only knew what that was because of Hermione, of course.

"Glad you approve, Mr. Potter," She glanced at Sirius. "I'm afraid you may not accompany your son to his classroom, sir. It is not customary at this school."

Harry got a feeling that she said that quite a lot.

"Godson, ma'am."

"My apologies," The lady seemed mildly annoyed.

Harry turned to his godfather and reluctantly said goodbye to him. "Bye, Sirius," Harry gave Sirius another brief hug.

"You too, kiddo. I'll miss you. Email me, okay?"

"I will, I promise," Did they even have computers in this place?

"Good." Sirius regarded Harry with warm grey eyes. "You'll like it here, I promise. Just give it some time."

Harry eyed him skeptically.

"I'm sure he will, Mr. Black." The lady cut in and Sirius made a face at her back. Harry smiled feebly, but his heart wasn't into it. Harry did not want to leave his godfather. He did not want to see him again in a few months. He did not want to go to this school. "Come, Mr. Potter. I will guide you to your first class today, as you are already five minutes late. You will get a student guide afterwards."

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Sirius who waved bemusedly and shot Harry an encouraging smile. "You'll like it, I promise," he mouthed. Harry nodded one last time for his godfather's sake and turned, grudgingly hurrying after the woman.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall. You may address me as Professor McGonagall." She informed him as they walked briskly down the hallway, their steps echoing through the school on the hardwood flooring. Harry unwillingly admired the stone carvings and paintings displayed on the walls. A large, winding staircase on the far wall extended above and Harry almost gaped at the sheer size of the structure. Here, eyen more paintings were cluttered artfully on the walls and ornamental rugs draped from the sides of the staircase. As much he tried not to be, he was thoroughly impressed, coming from a public high school whose fanciest relic was the auditorium. He might be able to get used to the décor, at least. The kids were probably an entirely different story altogether. "This is where all of the tenth class classrooms are located. The boys' dorms are at the end of this hall to your right. The girls' dorms are to the opposite side, but I trust you will not go there." Harry blushed slightly and Professor McGonagall turned from the main corridor into a smaller hallway. "There are four boy's dorms: Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw. You will be rooming in Gryffindor."

"How will I know which dorm is which?"

"It has a brass plate with a sign on it," McGonagall said curtly. "I trust you can read, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes," Harry replied sharply, slightly annoyed.

"Good. The dining hall is located on the third floor, above the ninth class wing. Breakfast is at six-thirty sharp on weekdays and at nine on weekends. Lunch will only be served on weekdays, at twelve o'clock. Dinner will be at six o' clock every day. Are you vegetarian?"

"Er, no."

"Then your daily menu is in your student handbook, two pages behind your daily schedule. In America, you have fixed periods, I am aware?"

"Yes," Harry said, slightly confused.

"Here your times for classes are varied. For example, today you have one hour of Literature, two hours of Chemistry, two hours of Advanced Arithmetic, one free period, and one hour of UK History. Tomorrow you have two hours of Literature, one hour of Advanced Arithmetic, one hour of Physical Education, one study period, and two hours of Psychology. All classwork must be turned in on the due date. Consequences will be moderated by the professors and occasionally me and Headmaster Dumbledore. Exams are always noted beforehand, though quizzes may not always be. The dorm common rooms seem to be the most popular location for students to complete homework. Of course, the library is open for students to work in a quiet area. It closes at nine o' clock every evening." She stopped in front of a dark mahogany door, identical to the other doors along the corridor wall and turned to Harry expectantly. "Any questions?"

Harry was processing this wealth of information. This new school was so drastically different from his old one. He only hoped that the kids here weren't as uptight as Professor McGonagall; however, the pessimist side of him was convinced that they would be. Harry slowly shook his head. "No, Professor."

McGonagall glanced at him coolly with stern green eyes. "Very well then, you may enter class. Give this note to the professor and you will not be given a detention for tardiness." She nodded in goodbye and to Harry's surprise, smiled softly before quickly retreating back the way they had come. Harry took a deep breath and nervously flattened his ever-wild hair before turning the handle of the door and stepping into the classroom.

The classroom was silent as Harry walked in. He could feel thirty of forty pairs of eyes following him as he walked cautiously up to the professor and handed him a pale pink slip of paper. The professor was tall, with blonde hair and handsome features. He scanned the slip of paper and looked down, giving the new student a friendly smile.

"Hello, you must be our new student. I am Professor Mariott. Why don't you introduce yourself?"

Harry grimaced inwardly. He was not looking forward to this. He turned to the sea of students and counted forty two pairs of eyes. This was a big class. "Um, hi. My name is Harry, Harry Potter." Immediately, whispers broke out amongst the students, especially the girls, and he could hear faint giggles reaching his ears. His face burned. Were they making fun of him?

"Harry here is from the States." Professor Mariott smiled encouragingly. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry noted that this professor seemed to address their students by their first name, unlike McGonagall, and that he seemed much friendlier. Well, at least McGonagall didn't make him introduce himself to a class full of preppy private school kids.

"Um, yes, sir. I'm from Los Angeles, in California."

"Where's that?" He heard a girl ask loudly and turned to see a black-haired girl. She was pretty in a way, though Harry thought her face was strangely reminiscent of a pug.

"In California, Pansy, as Harry just said." Some students masked laughs as the Professor replied. "Well, that's excellent Harry. Why don't you have a seat and get out a pencil? We're taking notes right now. There's one free, next to Draco. Draco, raise your hand please. "

Harry let out a relieved sigh and glanced at the boy named Draco. What a strange name. He seemed about Harry's height, though it was hard to tell when he was sitting down, with a pale face and platinum blond hair Harry doubted was completely natural. He stumblingly made his way to his new seat, feeling the eyes of the other students, and awkwardly sat down at the oak desk. Of course, they had oak desks here, instead of faux wood littered with pencil graffiti. Harry took out a pencil and a piece of notebook paper. Noting the title of the book on the board, he groaned quietly. Pride and Prejudice.

The class bell rung after a surprisingly interesting discussion of Jane Austen's life. He had not totally changed his mind and started to like the book or the author, but at least he understood why she wrote about such stupid things. She was a woman and in that time, a woman of her stature didn't have much else to write about, according to Professor Mariott. He found himself liking the professor, even with the awkward introduction at the beginning of the class. Sadly, he could not say the same for the students yet, or the rest of the professors.

Harry shoved his pencil and paper into his bag, not being the neatest person in the world, and made to leave when he noticed a blond boy standing in front of him, smirking. What was his name again?

"Um, hi. Can I help you?" He noticed more girls giggling out of the corner of his eye and frowned self-conciously, fiddling with the button on his black blazer.

"Never would have pegged you for a tosspot, Potter. I can usually tell by first sight." The boy drawled, smirking. Harry noticed that they weren't the same height after all: the boy had a good few inches on him.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, my apologies, I must not have introduced myself. My name is Draco Malfoy." He stuck out his hand to shake, smirking wider. His accent sounded slightly more polished than Professor Mariott's, yet judging by his expression, what he had said was not exactly polite.

Harry looked at his hand and shrugged, shaking it briefly. "What does that mean?"

"What, tosspot?" Draco looked at him with amused grey eyes.

"Yeah."

"Nothing. I just noticed that you seemed quite riveted on the lesson today. Usually boys aren't such a big fan of fluffy ball gowns and such."

Harry caught on and glared at him. "I'm not gay."

"I never said you were," Draco replied snarkily, in a way that reminded him of a meaner version of Sirius. "Want me to show you to your next class? I have French."

"I have Chemistry, and no thanks." Harry turned and walked away. Draco caught his arm and Harry turned, giving him a short glare.

"Bye, Potter."

"Whatever, _Malfoy_." Harry heard Malfoy snort loudly in amusement as he walked away.


	2. Passing Notes

Chapter II

Harry tried not to feel lonely as his fellow Gryffindors separated into pairs and groups and found seats in the dining room. He was a new student; after all, he couldn't expect to have flocks of students lining up to be his best friend. He was just a nobody here. The only thing he had in common with the other kids was money. He wasn't exceptionally talented, or intelligent, or outstanding in any recognizable way. Harry chose a seat at random and sat, pulling his schoolbag from his shoulder and placing it next to his plate.

Whatever, it wasn't like it bothered him. Harry was perfectly content with being himself; he had learned a long time ago at his old school that acting like an idiot classified you as an idiot, and as far as he was concerned, being known as the class douche was worse than not being known much at all. At his old school, there had been a time where news had resurfaced about the death of Harry's parents, and everyone in the school knew his name. The teachers fussed over him, the girls gossiped about him, and the school soccer team took pity on him and let him try out in the middle of the season. However, after a year or so, as the school moved on bigger and better news- a (not so) shocking earthquake in San Francisco, several scandalous naked photos of the head cheerleader circulating around the student body, a horrifying school shooting in a fellow state- the school's charity case had faded into a distant memory. It was now part of the school's social history, like the withdrawal of the vending machines in the cafeteria. He was known to teachers and the general student body as that boy whose parents were most likely murdered, and to his friends, just Harry. Harry Potter, the boy who loved to play soccer and was a complete failure at chess.

Harry picked at his toast. He only ate toast with his favorite spread, which he could not find anywhere on the overstuffed table. He wished for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Realizing with a sigh that he had to make do with what he had, Harry reached out for the small pot of jam he had been eyeing for a while. Suddenly, however, the boy beside him, wrapped up in narrating some extravagant tale to his friend, decided at that inopportune moment to wave his hand across the table expressibly, causing the pot to fall and spill the sticky jam across Harry's forearm.

"Oh, damn it, sorry mate," the boy spun around immediately as the pot clattered to the tabletop, and began to apologize profusely, brown eyes wide. He ran a hand through his equally brown hair and looked at a loss for what to do. "I'm really very sorry. I didn't notice your arm was there, or the jam-"

"Bloody hell, Ben. I'm sure he's fine. A little bit of jam won't hurt a man." His friend cut him off short, a tiny, extremely skinny boy with black hair. He reached around his friend and passed Harry a few napkins.

"It's fine," Harry assured the boy now known as Ben, grimacing slightly as he tried to rid his skin of the unpleasantly sticky substance.

Marcus hurried to straighten the jam and wipe the table, ignoring his friend's bemused remark about the school's maid staff, and turned back to Harry. "I'm really very sorry," he apologized for the third time.

Harry sighed and was about to tell him it was fine again, but the boy was still talking. "It must be really horrible for you. Blimey, it's your second day here and you've already gotten jam spilled on your arm!"

"It's fine, I told you," Harry finished wiping his arm clean, though some of the unpleasant residue still remained, and grinned awkwardly at the earnest expression on the boy's face, trying to put him at ease.

"You say that, but you must think so terribly of me now," Ben remarked sadly, shaking his head at Harry. Harry raised an eyebrow, bemused at the boy's over apologetic behavior. Ben stuck out a hand to Harry. "Sorry, I haven't even told you my name! I've just decided to spill jam all over you and make a complete arse out of myself. I'm Benjamin Callus, but everyone calls me Ben. It's a pleasure to meet you." A steady stream of words were pouring out of Ben's mouth as he chatted aimlessly for the next few minutes, repeatedly inserting numerous apologies for the incident. Harry's attention drifted off slightly as the boy's friendly chatter blended into the surrounding noise of the dining hall. "Ah-sorry," Ben's chattering suddenly ceased, and his eyes widened in worry again. "How rude of me, I haven't even asked you your name! You were in my Literature class last afternoon! Harvey Potter, isn't it?"

Harry had to mentally shake himself up from his coma-like state. This boy's talkative personality reminded him vaguely of Hermione, and his bumbling behavior was so reminiscent of Neville that he already felt a twang of homesickness. "Um, Harry, actually."

"Oh! My apologies, I-" Thankfully, Ben was interrupted by his friend.

"Just ignore him, Potter," the tiny friend informed Harry, shaking his head. "Ben's always making a right fool of himself."

"Hey!"

"You know it's true."

"Um, hi," Harry said hesitantly, directing his words to Ben's rather pointier friend. "You can call me Harry, you know."

The boy's cool blue eyes sized Harry up for a moment, a strange expression on his face. "I think I'm fine with Potter, thanks," he replied curtly.

Harry couldn't help feeling slighted.

"Don't be such a prat, Marcus," Ben scowled at Marcus, the expression peculiar on his friendly, freckled face. He turned to Harry apologetically once again, as if contrite for his friend's behavior. "This prat is my best mate, Marcus. Please don't take anything he says personally. He really doesn't mean it."

"It's King to you, Potter," Marcus grumbled half-heartedly, shoving his friend in the shoulder.

Harry started to feel another pang of homesickness as the two bickered for the rest of breakfast.

* * *

"Hey, Harry!" Hurry turned to see Ben hurrying after him, his lanky legs easily allowing him to reach Harry. His friend was nowhere in sight.

"What's up?"

"You have English next, right? You should sit with me."

Harry felt a tiny flutter of happiness inside of him. Maybe there were some nice kids in this school after all. He had expected them all to be carbon copies of King, or maybe that kid with the weird name, Malfoy or whatever.

Harry groaned inwardly. "I have to sit next to that Malfoy kid, remember?"

"Ah, right, I forgot. We chose our seats yesterday. Sorry, mate. That's bad luck."

"Is he really that bad?" Harry asked curiously.

Ben grimaced. "I don't want to sound judgmental, but he's a bigger prat than Marcus. Plus he's kind of a posh kid, you know." He noticed Harry's confused expression. "Erm, swanky, stuck-up, choose your pick."

"And most of the students here aren't?"

"Posh? Nah. We're just gits." Ben grinned good-naturedly.

They arrived at the classroom rather early, with only two students currently in their seats. Professor Mariott smiled at Harry and called him over. Harry received a parting punch on the shoulder from Ben and made his way to the Professor's desk.

"Um, Professor? What is it?"

Mariott smiled gently at him. "No need to look so worried, Harry. You're not in trouble. I just wanted to see how you were holding up. How are you liking this musty old place so far?"

"I've only been here for less than a day, sir," Harry stated, raising an eyebrow.

The professor laughed as if Harry had said something extraordinarily clever. "That's right. So silly of me. Well, class is about to start, better take your seat."

"Alright, sir."

Harry took his seat right before the bell rang, signaling the start of class. Mariott greeted everyone cheerfully and pulled out a clipboard from one of the drawers underneath his desk.

"Alright, everyone. I would like to be able to remember all of your names so I will be doing the attendance this way for the first week or so of school. Please correct me if I mispronounce your name, or remind me if you told me your nickname yesterday. I haven't written them down, my apologies." He pulled out a pen. "Okay, then. Abbott, Hannah?"

A cheerful looking girl with a slightly pudgy face raised her hand.

People resumed chatting quietly as the roll went on.

"Finnigan, Seamus?"

"Here," a boy with an Irish sounding accent replied. Harry recognized him from his dorm. The roll call continued.

"Goyle, Gregory?"

The professor reached another familiar name. "Malfoy, Draco?"

Harry turned and suddenly noticed that the seat next to him was empty.

"He's not here, sir." The same pug-faced girl from yesterday called.

"Really?" Professor Mariott raised a quizzical brow. "I'm certain that he was here at breakfast, was he not?" He turned to a group of boys sitting near the back. The two were rather beefy and large, with high foreheads, squinty eyes, and vague expressions. The third was dark-skinned and slender. He spoke confidently. "We haven't seen him, sir," His voice was silky and persuasive.

The professor's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He finished taking roll, a tense set to his brow.

The lesson began and Harry found himself drifting off. The audiotape of the first chapter lulled Harry into a wide-eyed slumber, a state he and Ron had perfected. Suddenly, the door creaked open and forty-two pairs of eyes followed Malfoy as he entered the room.

Professor Mariott looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow, "Kind of you to show up, Mr. Malfoy," Harry noticed he called Malfoy by his last name instead of his first. His normal cheerful countenance also seemed a little cold.

Malfoy turned so that Harry could only see the back of his sleek, blonde head. The boy's drawling voice was easy to make out as the classroom was completely silent, eyes focused on the latecomer, with the exception of a few girls giggling irritatingly in the back of the classroom. "I overslept, Professor."

"Mariott's brows seemed to disappear into his hair. "Is that so?" He inquired disbelievingly, though it really wasn't much of a question.

"Yes, Professor."

"Then you weren't at breakfast this morning?"

"No. I overslept."

Professor Mariott studied Malfoy closely for a minute before sighing and uncrossing his arms. "Very well, then. Take your seat, and I pray you won't interrupt the lesson tomorrow."

Malfoy swaggered to his seat, swung his schoolbag around his shoulder and sat down. He turned to Harry and smirked, "Good morning, Potter."

Harry ignored the boy and pulled his book closer to him. He was ready to resume his former state of inattentiveness he heard a laugh, poorly masked as a short cough coming from his direct left. Whipping his head around, he gave the blonde a glare and mouthed, "What?"

Malfoy's smirk grew and he shook his head at Harry as if he knew something Harry did not.

A frown took place on Harry's face as he grew irritated. Glancing briefly at the professor, whose eyes suddenly flitted down as though he had been looking in Harry's direction (probably because of Malfoy's sudden laugh), he quickly retrieved a sheet of notebook paper from his bag and scribbled a demand. He folded the note twice, and making sure no one was looking, covertly reached to his left and placed it on Malfoy's desk.

He could feel the boy's surprise although he was making a conscious effort not to look at him. He stared down at his book and listened to the soft crinkling of paper being folded up. A sharp jab on his forearm made him quickly snatch up the note and open it behind his book so that the professor would not be able to see it.

**Malfoy, you'd better tell me what's so funny and why you've been staring at me for the past few minutes with that stupid look on your face.**

_Malfoy's do not stare Potter, and if I had been staring, I definitely would not have been staring at you._

Malfoy hadn't even answered his question. Harry scowled in annoyance and quickly scrawled a reply, noting the difference between his scrawling, uneven handwriting and the flowing script of Malfoy's. He returned the note again. Once it came back to him, he glanced up to make sure the professor wasn't looking, only to find Mariott being replaced by a skinny woman with dark hair pulled back painfully under a pointy black hat. He hadn't even noticed the professor leave. The woman seemed absorbed in the audiotape, and didn't glace up once at the sound of paper unfolding.

**Shut up. You were staring. Tell me why, and why you laughed.**

_Potter, did it not occur to you that maybe the reason I laughed had nothing to do with you?_

Harry's scowled deepened as he replied and once again, passed the folded note to the boy to his left. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Malfoy smirk and shake his head, before starting to write. Harry directed his attention to his book once more, waiting for the telltale poke on his arm.

A woman's voice suddenly broke the monotony of the audio, and Harry raised his head. "Is there something you would like to share with the class, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry's eyes widened in panic and he stole a glance at Malfoy, who was coolly returning the woman's stare.

"No, ma'am." All eyes were on him.

"Are you sure? Because I am positive that everyone would love to know what is on that paper you have there," she countered, her voice laced with suspicion.

"I was merely replacing a bookmark."

"Then why were you writing on it, Mr. Malfoy? I'm sure Professor Mariott does not appreciate students passing notes in his class while he steps out to run an errand."

Harry frantically hoped this woman did not believe in reading out notes that were being passed in class; he still didn't know what was in Malfoy's reply and he really did not want to get in trouble on his second day of school. The woman's heels made ominous clacking noises against the polished floor of the classroom as she marched over to Malfoy's desk and snatched up his book. Harry held his breath anxiously, eyes quickly flitting over to Malfoy's neutral, haughty face and back to the woman again. She had pulled the paper from inside the book, and was scanning the page. Harry noticed her face steadily drawing tighter and gulped inwardly. What did Malfoy write? She finally looked up from the paper, eyes flashing in anger, and demanded to know who 'Potter' was.

"That's me, ma'am," Harry said apprehensively, bracing himself for the worst.

She turned to him. "I would like you and Mr. Malfoy to report to the Assistant Headmaster's room immediately." Her lips were pressed firmly against each other as she stared down the two boys.

Malfoy shrugged and stood up, lazily swinging his bag over his shoulder as he leisurely made his way to the door. "Coming, Potter?" he drawled nonchalantly, not even turning to look if Harry was following him. Harry was dumbfounded at the boy's blasé attitude towards the whole situation, and only got up once Malfoy was almost to the door, hurriedly stuffing his book into his bag and walking briskly to catch up with the blonde. He could feel forty pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his head and scuttled out quickly, head bowed in shame.

* * *

Malfoy's pace was equally apathetic even as they ventured down the hall. Harry was blindly following the taller boy, as he couldn't for the life of him remember how to get to McGonagall's office.

"Malfoy," Harry began, and Malfoy turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "What did you write in that note?"

Malfoy smirked and Harry began to realize that it was a sort of trademark for him, a way of him showing cockiness and superiority, without actually saying anything at all. "Wouldn't you like to know, Potter?"

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Of course I would like to know, Malfoy! Your comment was what got us sent to McGonagall in the first place! You at least owe me an explanation!"

Malfoy sneered, and the sight made Harry's blood boil. "I don't owe you anything, Potter. And anyway, if I recall properly, it was your idea to pass notes in the first place so I would say that this is actually your fault, and-"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled. "I don't give a damn about your opinion. Just tell me what was on that note!"

Malfoy's sneer died down and he recollected himself, before shooting his trademark smirk again. "Just the truth; nothing more, nothing less. Nothing that you need for you to worry your slovenly little head about, Potter."

"Listen here, Malfoy," Harry spat, unaware of the dangerous level that his voice was rising to. "I'm sick of your damn evasions. If you don't tell me what you wrote that made that woman so angry, I swear I will fucking-"

Suddenly, the door next to where they were standing slammed open and Harry had to jump back in order to avoid getting hit. "Potter!" McGonagall shouted, looking aghast. "We are in a school setting! I expect you to behave yourself a certain way, and that includes not yelling obscenities in the hallways. You and Malfoy, inside now!"

Harry, red-faced, his anger slowly seeping away into abashment, walked into the classroom and sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs, shamefaced under McGonagall's glare. Malfoy leisurely lowered himself next to Harry in an identical chair and stared back at the Headmistress with an offhand expression. McGonagall's lips tightened further as she noticed Malfoy's attitude, firmly closed the door, and took her seat across from them. She fixed them with a withering glare. "I have received word from Madam Pince that you two boys were passing notes while she was standing in briefly for Professor Mariott. As you both should know, Mr. Malfoy in particular, we do not tolerate students passing notes in class, no matter the topic being discussed. Usually, you both would simply receive a detention for your impertinence, but after reading the contents of your note, I have decided-" Her voice shook with suppressed anger and broke slightly. "How could you two say something like this? You have to understand, these things can ruin a man's life! Accusing someone falsely, with this- this heinous depravity- I am extremely ashamed of both of you! I have decided to give you both detentions every Saturday at 8 until the Christmas Break."

Harry stared at her, shocked by her anger. "Um, professor, what exactly was on that note?" He asked timidly.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't play the fool, Potter. I sincerely doubt your placement at this school if you suffer from such short-term memory loss. Well, here. Read it for yourself, then."

Harry took the proffered paper, trying not to feel stung by her comment.

**Stop trying to avoid the damn question!**

_Fine then, Potter. I was simply observing that old Mariott seems quite fascinated by you. Can't blame him, many grown men simply cannot resist the diminutive, scrawny type. Say, I wonder where he has gone? Think he has gone to take a little bathroom break to 'relieve' himself?_

Harry's face burned, in shock, anger, and embarrassment. His head whipped up and he looked in horror at Malfoy, whose smirk had disappeared, and was quietly examining his nails.

McGonagall surveyed both of the boys in front of her with grim expressions. "You both are dismissed. I better not hear any repeat of this incident ever again, do you hear me?"

Harry nodded, absolutely mortified.

* * *

**Thanks to all of my reviewers. I would appreciate it if you would leave a review telling me what you liked about the chapter before you ****(if you)** favorite it. Also, please don't hesitate to give me constructive criticism. Any advice that you can give me is extremely appreciated.

**My life is pretty unpredictable. I'm going to try to promise two updates a month, but there will be times where I update three times, once, or none at all. Summer vacation is coming however, so that should get my story moving faster. **

**I hope everyone is having is enjoying their Sunday, and feel free to leave your feedback!**


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